Eduardo Lalo is a writer, essayist, video artist, and photographer from Puerto Rico. He is the author of ten Spanish-language books, including La Inutilidad, Los Paises Invisibles, and, most recently, El Deseo del Lapiz. David Frye is a lecturer in anthropology at the University of Michigan who translates both Spanish poetry and prose.
"Simone has the stuff of the great literary works . . . .
The novel is a good example showing that literature in Puerto Rico,
like the history of the country, is made of paradoxical
relationships of love and hate, of liminality and darkness, most
always in the contingency of the contradictory. But, in any case,
without opposites there is no progression; without antithesis,
there is no synthesis."--Elidio La Torre Lagares "Nagari"
"Simone is a clear-eyed vision of the Puerto Rican margins--some of them, and not the ones usually found in contemporary fiction, which also makes it all the more effective. Both the literary and the personal are handled well here. . . . It can seem an oddly structured novel, yet it works--especially as a whole--surprisingly well, and the shifts in Lalo's narrative make for a story that doesn't simply chug along predictably from the outset but expands, in breadth and depth, into an ultimately rich, rewarding work."--M. A. Orthofer "Complete Review"
"Simone is reminiscent of Albert Camus's 1942 masterpiece, The Stranger, a study in alienation and impotence. . . . Certainly a thought-provoking book. The descriptions of Li's abysmal circumstances--she lives practically in servitude--shed light on an almost unknown aspect of Puerto Rican reality. We are far more used to reading about the plight of Puerto Ricans in New York than about minorities in San Juan. Lalo's dark portrayal of a sunny Caribbean city turns the conventional urban novel on its head, and his characters' blistering condemnation of the book industry and the notion of Hispanic unity is bound to raise eyebrows. . . . Lalo's distinct perspectives make Simone a surprising adventure and a worthwhile read."--Barbara Mujica, Georgetown University "Washington Independent Review of Books"
"Although at turns a passionate love story and a political and social commentary on life in Puerto Rico, Lalo's Simone primarily concerns writing: the singular word that he uses as the first sentence of his novel. The sparse narrative unflinchingly depicts two lonely and uncertain lovers as they meet and try to make sense of their pains through writing."--Lori Feathers "World Literature Today"
"Beautiful. . . . To Frye's credit, Simone never feels like a translation. . . . While the narrator obviously has significant pride in his Puerto Rico, it inevitably comes with a concomitant sense of resentment--part of the dark shadow that follows this novel sentence-by-sentence. Upon seeing the name 'Colony Economy' on a carton of milk in a coffee shop, the narrator muses about how Puerto Rico's history 'overwhelms and defines' him. It is an apt lens through which to view Simone--characters who cannot quite escape the world they were born into, or the childhoods they were subjected to, a country shackled by the past and every extension of happiness undercut by sorrow."--Greg Walklin "Necessary Fiction"
"Lalo explores the intersection of art and pain in this gorgeously written novel about two outsiders, drawn to one another by a desire to use art as a surrogate for emotional intimacy. . . . Simone is a novel of mysteries. . . . Underlying the novel's mysteries is Lalo's exploration of the symbiotic relationship between art and suffering. Art is not a panacea for pain . . . . Rather, pain nourishes art. . . . But by the novel's close the writer understands that his relationship with Li cannot be sustained without the two sharing their deepest pain and vulnerabilities, an intimacy that cannot be created through art alone."--Lori Feathers "Rain Taxi"
"There is something magnetic with the names in Simone. . . . The condition of strangeness is radicalized. All are equally foreign in this San Juan, the narrator as well as Li. . . . The relationship between the narrator and Li can also be read as an exploration, not without pathos and self-absorption, of the abyss that separates them. If a writer has to be, as we read in the novel, 'an athlete of defeat, ' the same requirement would seem to be true for lovers, doomed to run toward a goal that, they know, never arrives on time."--Lucas Mertehikian "Los Inrockuptibles (Argentina)"